Rookie
by FantiSci
Summary: Nightscream searches for Blackarachnia, all the time reflecting on himself and the war...and there's some unpleasant developments on the political front too.


**_Blurb: The much maligned Nightscream races around Cybertron in a wild goose chase, all the time reflecting on why he is as he is. Meanwhile, the Elders continue to scheme._****__**

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**_Rookie_**

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Nightscream probably wasn't a stellar example of a warrior, but he did have one thing in his favour - tenacity.

Of course, tenacity didn't do you a whole lot of good when you were trekking through the spaceports of Cybertron, looking for a comrade who'd flown the coop two weeks ago. In such circumstances, incredible intelligence, hacking skills or even a good sense of smell would have been much handier. However, Nightscream wasn't going to let little things like impossible odds stand in his way.

He didn't immediately strike as a particularly sensitive person, but that was more down to teenage arrogance than anything else. He'd raised putting on a front to an art form that even Cheetor couldn't hope to attain. In the same way as the most ignorant person shouts the loudest, the most terrified person acts the toughest.

And by Primus, the war had been terrifying for Nightscream.

When Optimus had been young, military training had been a compulsory part of Cybertronian education. This probably wasn't a good idea, since what it basically boiled down to was that for every youngster who thrived on such training, there were three that fell victim to bullying superiors, exhausting training and basic depression. It had taken decades of campaigning to ram it into the elders' heads that not every Maximal and Predacon on the planet had any use for military skills - and that it was causing the suicide rates to rocket. To fail The Academy was to eliminate any hope of employment...and to be disgraced for life. The integrity of the Council was brought in to question when it dismissed the hundreds taking their own lives each year. Such uncomfortable speculation made the Council take hasty action...

Shortly after Optimus, Rattrap, Rhinox and Dinobot had completed their separate stints in what Rattrap mockingly referred to as "the foundation of our society," the law covering compulsive military training was dropped and became purely optional. 

However, it meant that Nightscream was totally unprepared for the situation he had found himself in after waking up underground. Not that he'd have swapped his circumstances for four years of being kicked around by sergeants with serious ego issues, he thought, but it would have helped to know what in Primus's name fighting involved.

All things considered, he didn't think he'd done too badly. He'd screwed up Megatron's spark, enabling Rattrap to stick the tyrant into a much less threatening form (or so he told himself), and, ultimately, he'd survived. He'd made a difference.

The Council really didn't think much of that resume. They wanted to put him into the Academy he'd deliberately avoided. There was even unnerving speculation that the compulsory training law might be reinstated. Cheetor and Silverbolt (the most unlikely of partners, Nightscream thought, since a day didn't pass where there wasn't a sniping comment in either direction) had been working on squashing that notion before it started, before...

And what came after that "before" was the exact reason why Nightscream had slipped away to try and find the errant femme fatale of the team.

He'd relied heavily on Silverbolt, Blackarachnia and Rattrap to get him through the war without losing his mind. The Maximal team had seemed to be split into two sub-groups to Nightscream. Optimus, Cheetor and Botanica, the "what I say goes" group, and the aforementioned trio, the "our lives are seriously screwed up, but hey, we'll survive" group. 

Nightscream had stuck with the latter. Optimus and Cheetor were really too involved with the outcome of the war to concentrate on individuals, Botanica quite simply wasn't a "people person." Oh, she was polite and honest and kind, but Nightscream couldn't help but feel that she found the rest of her race a little...confusing.

He'd become fond of Blackarachnia on the mission that had led to a mad chase to retrieve her spark. An odd way to strike up a friendship, but since there was nothing particularly normal about their lives in any case, so it was no great loss to sanity. Up until that point, he'd been cowed by her. She was arrogant, rebellious, fierce and downright dangerous, she hadn't seemed to care for anything or anyone. Yet she'd looked out for him, and her unwavering devotion to Silverbolt had been enough to convince the bat that there was indeed some kind of affectionate streak in her. Somewhere. Hiding incredibly well.

Nightscream had taken up with Silverbolt almost by default. As the only other flier in the team, they'd been more or less stuck with each other, especially given Silverbolt's determination to avoid being left alone with Blackarachnia.

He'd HATED the condor at first, with a _vengeance._ How _dare_ he just waltz in and automatically resume his place in the ranks! While Nightscream had had to struggle so hard for acceptance, Silverbolt - the ex-Vehicon! - was drawn in without a qualm. And, to be honest, Nightscream had been jealous. He'd come to see Blackarachnia as his friend, and he was as jealous as a younger brother of her affection for Silverbolt.

Over time, however, he'd realized that things weren't quite that simple for Silverbolt. Rattrap had told him what his personality had been like before the Technorganic wars, and it was a world away from his disposition now. What was that like, Nightscream wondered, to turn your own personality on its head? Or did Silverbolt even notice the change?

Stupid question, really. Of course he noted the change, Silverbolt _hated himself. Although, Nightscream thought, if he really  hated himself so much...why not go back to his former, cheery disposition? Silverbolt would probably have dismissed the notion as naive, but the best course of action was often the most ridiculously simple._

And anyway, cranky or chivalrous, Silverbolt was his buddy now. He'd proved that just after Botanica's arrival, and in the (rather spectacular) catch he'd done when the young Maximal had been shot. He'd put up with Nightscream's tendency to tag along with hime for even longer than Rattrap could stand it. In short, Nightscream felt he owed 'Bolt. Big time. 

Rattrap was just Rattrap. You liked him or you hated him, and Nightscream had, after an initial distrust, fallen into the first category. He privately hoped that Rattrap didn't remember the sniping shots Nightscream had taken when the rodent couldn't transform, or if he did, hoped he didn't bear a grudge...Rattrap was insensitive, crass, loudmouthed and arrogant, but he could be a good friend all the same. This achievement probably intrigued Nightscream, though he'd never admit it...and perhaps this was what he admired in the rat.

Nightscream had never told the others that he had always been a bully magnet. The middle of a war was probably a bad time for such a revelation. And...he was humiliated by it. Three separate forms, and he'd been kicked around in all of them. Partly because of sheer bad luck (three times running) in his choice of alternate mode, and partly because people found him so damn whiny.

It wasn't technically his fault...He was the youngest in his class, and his voice had always had a pleading edge to it - when his voice had begun to break, long after most other boys in his class, it had been sheer hell.

He felt that that in itself should have prepared him for war. He knew that creeps came in all different shapes in sizes - the trio who had made his own life a nightmare had been teacher's pets (although built like tanks). He knew well enough that intelligence - even genius - was no hallmark of a good personality, that some of the greatest minds in the world had poisonous personalities. 

He hadn't mentioned it out of pride and common sense. The veterans of two wars would have no time for petty teenage troubles. 

Or so he'd thought. 

After the first day back at the school, Silverbolt had been the first to notice his damaged arm. And the condor hadn't swallowed his story of an accident at all. But seriously, what could he do? His trip to the medbay had only outlined the fact that, as a hero, every complaint he made was simply seen as abuse of privilege and status. His arm had been left unattended, but he'd been lectured thoroughly on "just because you were in the wars doesn't make you any different from the rest of us."

Rattrap was right. Hero was a token word. Nobody liked someone who'd saved their lives.

_I should have let them all die, _the bat thought bitterly. They were all helpless sparks...if only he'd been able to find the sparks of his tormentors and...

No. Couldn't entertain those kinds of thoughts. He was a hero, after all.

_Ha. Silverbolt's personality's rubbing off on me._

That brought his mind back to his mission. Rattrap had gone ballistic when Nightscream had finally contacted him out of sheer desperation. Rattrap had called him every word for an idiot...but he'd helped. He'd been able to track down the spaceport Blackarachia had left from, and told Nightscream her destination.

"Th' odds are against ya findin' her, kid," he'd added. "I should really tell ya t' come straight back..." He'd sighed. "Though instead, I'm telling ya - find her fast. Don't care if you have to turn psycho-stalker, just bring her back."

Letting her leave had seemed like a good idea at the time. No-one had protested at her plans. Time to get away, clear her head, give her room to work things out.

Unfortunately, while space might have worked for her, it was the last thing _Silverbolt needed._

That stopped Nightscream in his tracks. Maybe Silverbolt was just being selfish. Or maybe it was he, Nightscream, being selfish. He wanted things back to normal. He wanted everyone happy...but it was mainly because he himself wanted to be happy.

This was the first time he had belonged. Oh, sure, he was "the kid," 'the rookie," but he didn't mind. As long as he was counted among the team and accepted, he really didn't care what kind of stereotype he was wedged into. He had no military aspirations, and to be blunt, no real ambitions at all. He was far too busy living day to day to worry about the future. Other teens may have dreamed of becoming famous or being a great leader - Nightscream was more concerned about how he was going to avoid Backtrack and the subsequent grievous bodily harm if he didn't manage to do so.

Kids in groups were seldom troubled. One girl had been badly injured by Backtrack after refusing to date him - he was that dangerous sort of person who had brains, and the brawn to back it up. But he was no match for the fifteen female Transformers, none of them particularly "girly," that had jumped him and kicked his skidplate to kingdom come for daring to mess with one of their own.

Nightscream had never had the guaranteed protection of a group before. He'd never joined a club, or had a circle of friends. He'd been a social exile so long, he'd given up looking for friends, even allies. It did, however give him some idea of why the violent gangs roamed the poorer districts of Cybertron. Groups gave power - instead of being subject to the whims of society, gangs collected enough power to make other people's lives a misery. They couldn't take revenge on the real cause of their problems, so they struck out at whoever had the misfortune to meet them instead.

People who said violence never solved anything obviously had never been bullied. Nightscream knew for a fact that ganging up on one person wasn't right, but nor was attacking someone just because they weren't attracted to you. And the lecturers at the Academy seldom did anything to stop one 'bot terrorising a class. It was a case of standing up for yourself or being the sport of twisted schoolmates. 

He'd asked Cheetor about it once, on one of the few occasions they'd been in the same room. 

Cheets didn't get it at all, had only replied adamantly that two wrongs didn't make a right. Rattrap had more sense - as far as _he_ was concerned, someone hurt you or yours, you took it out of their metallic hide, by fair or foul means. 

The strangest thing was that Silverbolt's view had coincided with Cheetor's. Blackarachnia had bitterly explained this as the last remnants of Silverbolt's code of chivalry.

How you managed to stay in love with a person who'd changed so dramatically was a mystery to the young bat.. After all, you loved people for their personalities, didn't you? If their personality no longer appealed, what kept you bound to them?

It was one of the few questions he had been too scared to ask.

He showed his identity and ticket (courtesy of a resigned Rattrap with a large haul of unannounced credits...) to the bored looking Transformer at reception and was waved ahead. Planes on Cybertron were seen as something of an unnecessary annoyance before the planet had gone technorganic - many Transformers could already fly long distances. Those who could fly themselves did so, and tended to have a lower opinion of the ground-bound. They were not happy to discover that that was one more ability becoming technorganic had axed - even if you could fly, in an organic mode you had to WORK for it. Effortless flight was a thing of the past.

The whole point of being technorganic evaded Nightscream. Optimus had described it as evolution, but as far as most of the Maximal fighters were concerned, albeit quietly, it was rather like humans turning back into monkeys. Many Transformers felt they'd lost the crucial edge they'd had over other species - endurance was limited, speed bound by organic boundaries, and although their bodies were still tough, the very..._fleshiness_ of their new forms made them _feel _vulnerable.

It was a psychological thing, really, Nightscream thought. Many were as happy as could be with their new forms, generally the ones who'd already had beast modes as opposed to vehicle modes. Fuel was no longer as big a concern, their technorganic nature rendered food a suitable source of energy as well as energon.

But there would always be those who felt they'd had their wings clipped.

He chose a seat well away from anyone else. The fact that most of the Maximals who'd fought in the TO war had fairly distinctive appearances - Silverbolt the Samurai, Rattrap the small, wheeled loudmouth. Blackarachnia the femme fatale - had meant they'd had no privacy. They could be spotted a mile off.

It was a good thing no-one had yet worked out their residence, otherwise at least one of the team would have probably lost it and hurt someone. Besides, a confused leader, absent member, worried joker and depressed condor did not make for good PR or general populace confidence.

His distancing himself from others didn't work. The whispers started almost immediately...the quiff of hair was a kind of large giveaway as to who was on board...

___________________________________________

Nightscream scrambled off the plane with all the dignity he could retrieve. From one elderly female transformer calling him cute, to a juvenile Transformer telling him "You're not Nightscream! Nightscream's supposed ta be big and strong! You a wimp!" the journey had not been a pleasant experience.

He noted Rattrap's latest findings on his datapad - namely, the hotel where Blackarachnia was staying. Nightscream idly wondered what the Council would say if they knew one of the "Warriors," as they'd delicately referred to the group, had been hacking into hotel databases. _Probably have us all executed for treason, he thought, humourlessly._

He DID wonder about Rattrap's message though:

_Hey, kid, here's some info that might be some use to you. You'd think Leggy would know enough to get rid of the hotel records if she didn't want to be found._

_Found out a couple of...interesting little snippets too. Might soon come in handy._

_RT_

If Rattrap had sent him the standard holo-message, the young Maximal would have asked him what in the Pit he meant by that last part. But holos were easily traced, and the Council's constant surveillance of the group at work, coupled with their continuous efforts to find their home, would make even the hardiest 'bot paranoid. Thankfully, the Elders hadn't counted on Rattrap and Blackarachnia managing to stay fifteen steps ahead of the game (they STILL hadn't figured out who was responsible for the virus that had wiped out the entire Maximal Secret Service database - still, that put the idiots on a par with the rest of Cybertron. Civilians struggled to restore archives while notes on their private lives, that no-one had any right to know, had escaped Megatron's deletion).

Whatever Rattrap had found would have to wait. Nightscream's priority was Blackarachnia.

He shifted to beast mode, scaring a few passers-by with the speed with which he transformed. Most hadn't mastered the technique quite yet...either that or there were many Cybertronians with a fear of bats. With a glare over his shoulder at the people who gawped at him, he took to the night sky.

__________________________________________________________

Nightscream was not, by any stretch of the imagination, romantic. But it was nice to see the stars again, without hordes of aerodrones or exhaust fumes blocking the view.

Flying was a relatively new experience for Nightscream. His previous mode had been a small car, with no speed or weaponry worth noting. All right, maybe the energy drain technique of his vampire bat form was a _touch on the gruesome side, but it was effective. And his sonic scream was fairly impressive, especially when he lost his temper..._

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_The Council have raised concerns as to the reliability of the guerrilla group who fought what is now being termed "The Technorganic Wars." Elder Fentril claims that "the stress of fighting such a foe must surely have taken its toll on the minds of these individuals. We believe it unwise to invest too much faith in them, and suggest that they come forward for assessment and possible treatment."_

_The said group's whereabouts outside of their work is unknown, and Councillor Hishin has informed reporters that they "have been consistently unco-operative to our reasonable requests. This is not a good sign. Our standards are being compromised by a rogue group, which, for the security of Cybertron, cannot be tolerated."_

_When questioned, the Council  demurred as to whether they suspected foul play on the part of Cybertron's newest heroes. However, several parties have expressed concern at the High Council's attitude._

Nightscream's mechfluid almost froze in his body as his all-too-keen bat hearing picked up the transmission. Perhaps he and his friends should have taken better notice of the goings-on the the Citadel. Megatron's death seemed to have done little to rid the building of corruption...in fact, at least Megatron was up front about his plans. Government propaganda was the dirtiest kind of fighting there was.

His ears twitched again as a new voice entered the news report.

_"These are people who have risked their lives to save ours. They've made no demands and expect no reward. According to the retrieved data on the **Axalon, it was an exploration vessel and not the war ship the Council have claimed it to be. The crew sustained heavy losses, through no fault of the commander's. Upon the return to Cybertron, two more of their number have died. How much more damage do the Council want to do to those who have already suffered unimaginable pain?**_

_The Elders declined to comment._

Nightscream recognised that particular voice. It was one of Cybertron's foremost explorers, Jarrex. She had covered vast distances in both space and zero-space, discovering new lifeforms and new technology as she went. She and her crew had journeyed further on the _Supernova _than any other ship in the planet's history.

Considering the abilities of Cyberton's ships and crews, that was a hell of a lot of distance.

It was good to know that they had allies, Nightscream thought, but an explorer could do little against the scheming of the Council.

As the news programme moved on to other topics, the bat shook himself out of his reverie and flew determinedly onward.

___________________________________________________

He landed awkwardly on the roof of the hotel, mainly due to the fact that bat instincts dictated "hang upside down" and this particular residence didn't have accommodation for flying rodents.

The sign was right. Now for the room number. He double checked his datapad - 406. 

He supposed he SHOULD use the front door, but he really wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone else after that plane flight. Ducking out of sight, to the side of the roof facing the back alley, he swapped his bat mode for his robot form...and skidded along for a few feet before regaining purchase on the roof.

_Memo to self - remember bats have claws, 'bots generally **don't...**_

****

He peered over the ledge to make the happy discovery that a hall window was open. He jumped, hovered, and finally clambered through into the hotel.

It wasn't the shabbiest establishment in the world - nice decor, if you were a Cybertronian, lots of rooms, reasonably large - but it wasn't the unnerving opulence of the Crystal Galaxy, the enormous hotel near the Citadel where Cybertron's greatest liked to stay.

Somehow, he wasn't in the least surprised that Legs had holed up in a middle of the road establishment. She was too classy to put up with a poxy bed and breakfast, but too discreet (and too wary) to go near a place where the media 'bots snooped daily, hoping for a scoop.

Taking the stairs, he finally found Room 406. 

He knocked. 

And waited.

And repeated this procedure five times.

Eventually, he resorted to his datapad's little "upgrade" - a laser capable of outfoxing most security devices. He aimed it at the keypad, and the door hissed open with a nauseatingly polite "Welcome to your room."

He looked around. Nothing. 

No personal belongings, no shifted furniture, no sign of life. 

Wait... 

Here was something...A small holo-projector, a photo album rather than a communication device. He it a quick tap, and it sprang to life.

A group shot. An enormous blue and white behemoth that he supposed was Optimus. A large, stocky Transformer in brown and green, with a ridge of teeth across the torso plate. A tawny-coloured feline robot - Cheetor. A Transformer, second in height only to Optimus, stalked along behind the group, huge "wings" folded to his back and an expression of contempt on his mouthless face. Obviously, he hadn't intended to be in the shot. Leaning against the green-and-brown robot was a silver and blue one, his size (or lack thereof) and teeth indicating that this could only be Rattrap. On the right hand side of the picture, two Transformers stood close together, a large, winged, silver Transformer with a dog face, and a gold and black female. The winged robot had his arms protectively - possessively? - around her waist. She didn't seem too impressed with any of the setup.

Silverbolt and Blackarachnia then. Which meant the green guy was Rhinox. He was pretty sure Rhinox wasn't the moody one with no mouth, anyway.

Making a note to ask after El Groucho, he contacted Rattrap.

_______________________________________________________

"Hey kid! Ya on your way back?"

"Not likely. She's not here, Rattrap. There's only a holoprojector belonging to her in the whole room."

"Eh, Legs travels light. And somehow I don't think she'da stayed away for long, anyways. Hang on a nanosecond..."

Nightscream waited as Rattrap turned to face the left and began typing something into the nearby monitor - since the end of the war, Rattrap had never been far from a computer.

"Gotcha! Er...yer gonna have some trouble gettin' a hold of her kid..."

"And why's that?" Nightscream bristled.

"She's just been logged at CyberCafe - it's a nightclub. They'll never letcha in."

"I'll get in."

"Whatcha gonna do? Wear stilts?"

"I'll figure it out when I get there."

"Oh, WONDERFUL plan, Rookie..."

"Look, just leave it to me, kay?" He paused. "How is everyone?"

"Much the same. Shrubs is staying at the Science centre to all hours." Nightcream detected a hint of disappointment in Rattrap's voice. "Cheetor's running here, dere and everywhere, Council keep bossin' him around. 'Bolt's not left his room, 'cept for that conference on reinstatin' compulsive military training." He shrugged. "Much of a muchness."

"Right." Nightscream checked the datapad's clock. "Can't say when I'll be back, RT. If I come back in pieces, you'll know Blackarachnia doesn't want to come home."

"Ha-ha. That's if dose bouncers don't getcha first."

"I told you, I'll take care of it! See ya later, gotta go."

__________________________________________________

_Okay, Nightscream, you can do this..._

He watched the queue outside the club. He estimated the power of the Transformers on the door - there was a lot of it. He figured his chances of passing as an adult. He was entirely logical in his approach.

What he _ended up_ doing, however, was nothing short of "stupid."

He bolted from his hiding place, bowled over two unsuspecting 'bots in the queue, and tripped up the bouncers before they had time to react, going skidding across the floor in the process.

All watched by a confused female Maximal and her unknown acquaintance.

"BLACKARACHNIA!


End file.
